Rebellious Creator
by HiddenMusic
Summary: -Minor Catching Fire Spoilers- A darker look at what happend after Cinna was brutally dragged away by the Peacemakers in front of Katniss's very own eyes. Rated T for dark themes.


**_Author's Notes~_**

This is my first fic for Hungar Games, taking place sometime after Cinna's caputure. I was rather irritated we didn't find out what became of him in the book, we'll have to wait 'till August to find that out.

It's short, shorter than my normal works, but I felt going longer wouldn't be necessary.

Just a warning, this is a **dark fic**, you've been warned~ ;)

**Rebellious Creator**

Stiff walls and rigged floors, eerie silence filling the space with only the occasional, faint rattling of chains and the echoing drip of water from some unknown source hidden in the shadows brings an aura of dread.

Leaning, slouched weakly against the rough walls was a battered figure. His hands were suspended up above his head in steel chains attached to the wall. His clothes were ragged and worn, unchanged in days.

"Looking quite _stylish _there, Cinna," a gruff voice came from just beyond the bars of the cell, "Smelly old clothes your new taste? Grew tired of fire? Fire is what got you here in the first place."

Cinna didn't act as though he heard; he kept his head down, facing the ground, masking his face from view.

The guard turned his head into the cell, eyes narrowed, "Have you suddenly gone shy, now?"

Cinna then lifted his head, his mangy brown hair falling over his eyes. He didn't stare directly at the guard, but beyond him and still he made no response.

Grunting, the guard grew bored of the quiet prisoner and turned away. Cinna shifted himself, his shackles rattling. He knew why he was here, and he was proud of it. Through Katniss he showed his rebellion against the Capital. It was he who changed what was to be her bridal gown into a mockingjay.

For days, weeks, months, he lost track, he had been locked away in this cell. He had been held captive from the light of the sun and the freshness of nature. Only the occasional bread and water did he get, just enough for him to live through the tortures they gave. They whip in hopes of getting any scrap of information from him, though he knows their attempts are futile, and would always be. Never would he give in to the Capital and give them what they want.

Footsteps could be heard walking away, letting Cinna know the guard had left. Likely on a break, figuring he was too weak too tattered to come up with any escape. Once the steps faded in the distance, Cinna worked with his hands. Again he shifted, fiercely forcing his hands slowly through the restraints. Eventually, his bruised hand slipped through the weaker shackle of the two. Gazing at it, Cinna could see it was red from the force.

He looked up where the single hand still hung and grabbed the nearby thin stone he had been keeping an eye one for a while. With the stone, he fiddled with the lock for a good minute or so until it gave in, freeing his other hand.

Cinna rubbed his sore wrists while he scanned the cell. A small smile tugged on his lips as his eyes finally rested on the sharp knife plunged into the remains of what was once his former cellmate. The body was half decayed, rotting and stinking up the place. Nobody ever bothered to remove it for comfort, seeing as this place wasn't for it.

Reaching numbly over to wield the knife, Cinna grimaced at the gruesome fate and view of the poor lad, probably arrested under unfair accusations. But he couldn't give into his guts now; that would be him in just a few.

Cinna pulled the knife swiftly from the broken body, the knife stained in dried blood. The guard could take as long of a break he wanted, what a surprise he'll find when he returns. That alone brought a sly smirk to the stylist's face.

Gripping the knife with both hands, Cinna positioned the sharp blade right over his chest, for it to pierce directly to the heart. No longer would he play the role of a toy for the Capital, or President Snow. They want him alive to torture and use him, he'll do the opposite. He'll choose his own path; he'll decide his own fate. Already he played his role in this rebellion, now he could no longer afford becoming a burden.

His part was done.

For Katniss, for the country of innocent lives everything had been for.

With that last, lingering thought in his mind, Cinna plunged the blade into his chest, feeling the burning pain of the torn flesh.

But the pain vanished as he faded into darkness, just barley hearing himself fall to the rigid floor.

The guard would return, only to gasp in shock of the rebellious, bloody display the prisoner had left for him.

**_Author's Notes~_**

Depressing? I know, I love Cinna~ Anyway, please review! I love getting feedback. :)


End file.
